Okay
by sweetly-cruel
Summary: Another one-chapter story (if I made them longer, I'd never update, I'm afraid :)). Ron's interested in Hermione, but is she interested in him? Harry's interested in Ginny, but is she interested in him? Could this BE any more Sweet Valley High? RR!


Disclaimer: they're not my characters. I'm living a lie, I'm afraid.

AN: Don't worry, despite the somewhat depressing beginning (I felt I couldn't neglect Harry's anguish over Sirius) it gets pretty damn light-hearted later on. Yes, I'm aware that RW/HG, not to mention HP/GW, are incredibly predictable couples. But, sadly, I can't envision them with anyone else : ). Harry/Hermione just wouldn't work, and neither would Draco/Ginny. (_Ducks to avoid the various items being thrown by supporters of this couplings_.) Enjoy, and don't forget to review!!!

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"I can't wait to see his face when he finds out."

"Neither can I."

"He'll crack."

"Definitely."

"Do you think he'll admit it, once he's heard?"

"Admit what?"

"You know. Admit how he feels. About her."

"Nah."

"Why not?"

Harry raised his head, glad for the distraction from his satanically complicated Transfiguration assignment, and fixed a look that suggested deep inside knowledge upon Ginny. "Ginny, we both know that nothing short of someone holding a gun to your brother's head will compel him to confess his feelings for Hermione Granger."

Ginny shrugged. "You're right, I guess. He can be dead stubborn when he wants to be."

"So can she."

"A match made in heaven," quipped Ginny, sighing.

Harry was quite surprised – pleasantly so – that he really rather enjoyed spending time with Ginny Weasley in the Gryffindor common room. She was okay. She'd certainly made his first few weeks of Sixth Year a little more bearable. His head was still filled with the painful thoughts and memories that had nested there since that day in June. Funny, how he'd looked forward to it with dread, knowing that he would have to sit his History of Magic exam that day. Now he would look back on it with far graver anguish and regret, remembering the images that he just couldn't seem to drown, no matter how hard he tried…

Ginny was aware of these feelings. She experienced them, too, but on a less personal level. She'd faced death and Death-Eater alike in the same way that Harry had, but she didn't feel responsible for the terrible events, and it hadn't been _her_ godfather who'd disappeared behind the veil.

She acknowledged Harry's feelings but she didn't dwell on them. She didn't pressure him to talk about how he felt but always listened readily when he wanted her to. She could interpret his thoughts and sense his emotions, and he felt that no amount of Occlumency could close his mind to her.

Scary.

Furthermore, all talk of mind-reading and human sympathy aside, Ginny was simply fun to be with. She and Harry shared a subtle, slightly bitter sense of humour that only fully surfaced when they were together. And they brought out the – oft-hidden – confidence in one another. However Ginny may have matured – and Harry was pretty sure that she'd grown out of her childhood crush on him by now – it was always a bit of a self-esteem boost to be taken seriously by someone you'd fancied for years.

She also increased Harry's own self-confidence. He wasn't one hundred percent sure why this was. After all, she was just Ginny Weasley, Ron's little sister. Yes, he'd begun to notice that her hair was a stunningly striking shade of orange-tinged crimson, and that specks of light danced in her eyes when she was excited, but that was beyond the point. She was just… Ginny. She was okay, and a hell of a lot more mentally stable than someone who'd grown up with Fred and George Weasley should be.

"They would make the most hilarious couple," Ginny laughed. "Can you imagine the rows?"

"I don't particularly _want_ to," shuddered Harry. "That's one thing we should be thankful for. Imagine if they started going out and saw even _more_ of each other than they do now? They'd kill each other. I'm not even joking. They would _actually_ kill each other."

"I know. Still. I _do_ wish that they'd just hurry up and tell each other how they felt."

"You're not alone," replied Harry absently, glancing miserably at his Transfiguration homework and wondering how many Galleons he would have to pay Hermione to convince her to let him copy hers.

"I hate it when people who are so obviously _meant to be together_ won't admit it."

"So do I."

"It drives me insane."

"Me, too."

There was an enigmatically pregnant pause, which Ginny hastily broke. "So, why's there no Quidditch practice this evening?"

"Cancelled," answered Harry with a pained expression. "Too cold. McGonagall reckons we'll get frostbite if we go outside."

If Ginny was his therapist, Quidditch was his medicine. He found nothing more freeing, more soothing, than gliding through the air on his Firebolt. As he dived and spun and streaked nimbly across the sky, he would feel that he could finally concentrate on something _other_ than his deadly guilt and overwhelming loss. He could skilfully focus all his energies on the glimmer of gold that would dance tantalisingly before his eyes, and pretend, for a few shining moments, that nothing in the world mattered more than clasping it in his hands. And then, when the practice sessions were over, his exhausted euphoria at having done a satisfactory job would instantaneously be replaced by the cold, hard realisation that he could catch a thousand Snitches a thousand times and still be left with this hollowness inside.

Nevertheless, he found that he craved the distraction of Quidditch more than anything else. He would quite have frozen his toes, fingers and nose off if he'd been able to spend the evening practising.

Though spending time with Ginny came a close second.

A _very_ close second.

Ron made a typically noisy arrival in the common room, kicking off his boots and sinking sluggishly into an armchair. "Ah," he breathed, "warmth. It's bloody freezing in the dormitories… I tell you, this castle should seriously consider using some Muggle methods of heating. What's that thing Dad talks about? Centaur… century…"

"Central heating," supplied Harry.

"Yeah, that. Some of that wouldn't go amiss. Can't believe they cancelled Quidditch, though. I've been improving, recently. I caught the Quaffle last time, and that Bludger – well, I was only unconscious for a minute, wasn't I? Besides, I never saw it coming –"

"Well, I've got some news that'll cheer you right up, Ron," Ginny cut in briskly.

Harry shot her a look, warning her to go easy on him, but she just smiled wickedly. "Some news," she reiterated, "about… Hermione."

"Oh, really?" Ron replied, trying to sound disinterested and just about managing. "Has she managed to tame her hair so that it's now only forty inches in diameter?"

"No," Ginny said, still smirking. "Seamus has asked her out."

For a lengthy moment, Ron stared at her, as if she'd just told him that Draco and Harry had earlier announced their engagement in front of the Great Hall. Then he stammered, "Did – did you just say that Seamus asked Hermione out?"

"Yes," confirmed Ginny happily. Harry realised, for the first time, just how unspeakably _evil_ Ginny could be when wanting to cause her brother pain.

"Seamus?" repeated a dumbstruck Ron, stupidly.

"Yes."

"Asked Hermione?"

"Yes."

"Out?"

"_Yes_," intoned Ginny, now growing ever-so-slightly irritated.

"MY Hermione?"

"Oh, so she's YOUR Hermione, is she?" his sister exclaimed, teasingly.

"Oh, for crying out loud, you know what I mean! I mean – I mean – Hermione _Granger_?"

"No, Ron," Harry couldn't resist chipping in, "one of the fifty-five other Hermiones we hang around with."

"Merlin, you two are sarcastic when you're together," marvelled Ron sourly. "But – _why_?"

"Why _what_, Ron?" groaned Ginny witheringly.

"Why would Seamus ask Hermione out?"

"Why wouldn't he?" she retorted plainly. "She's available, he's available…"

"But she's just – Hermione. You know? She's nothing special."

"Oh, Ron, you really are a git," observed Ginny in disgust, disappearing behind her copy of _Witch Weekly_.

"Did she say yes?" Ron asked Harry, a thread of exasperation woven suspiciously through his anxious voice.

"Well, yeah, as far as I know," replied Harry, already feeling uncomfortable and marginally annoyed. He wasn't a hundred percent certain whether his nerves could stand an interrogation from Ron with regard to Hermione's love life. Ron tended to become a bit, er, _persistent_ when discussing her.

"Are you sure?"

"I dunno."

Ron shifted uncomfortably in his seat, rubbing the tip of his nose, as if in serious thought. "It seems weird," he commented. "She's Hermione. I mean, she's _Hermione_."

"I think we've established that, Ron," interjected Ginny wearily, failing to lift her red-gold eyes from her magazine.

"Hermione wouldn't _want_ to go out with Seamus," continued Ron confidently, ignoring her. "She's the teacher's pet. She places her studies above all else. She's not interested in boys, she's only interested in Arithmancy and licking McGonagall's boots."

"Er… she's sixteen, Ron," Harry reminded him awkwardly. "She's… she's growing up."

Harry cringed as he heard those words escape from his mouth. He sounded like a forty-five-year-old; like Uncle Vernon when he was talking about Dudley. He resolved never to give anyone romantic advice again, ever. Especially not when Ginny was in the room.

Not that he cared what Ginny thought of him. Not particularly, at least.

"Okay," Ron began swiftly. Harry felt his heart sink like a boulder. It was becoming increasingly clear that Ron wasn't going to drop this for a good while yet. He had no choice other than to lie back and answer his various questions as patiently and inconsequentially as possible. "So Hermione's going out with Seamus. This can only be a bad thing."

Neither Harry nor Ginny could come up with a suitable rejoinder to this, and instead waited pointedly for him to expand.

"Seamus is a prat, isn't he?" Ron pushed on frankly. "Look at the way he behaved, Harry, when, you know, everyone thought you were a warped lunatic."

"Oh, you can be tactless, Ron," scolded Ginny crossly. "Anyway, Harry's forgiven him, haven't you?"

Harry nodded obediently.

"Seamus has apologised. If Harry can forgive him, I think _you_ can," Ginny pointed out sensibly.

Ron looked temporarily perplexed, before triumphantly exclaiming, "But Hermione's got seriously _rubbish_ taste in blokes! Remember Krum? What was the deal with him?"

"He was dead good-looking," deadpanned Ginny matter-of-factly.

"He was internationally famous," added Harry.

"He was obviously head over heels with Hermione," she reminded him.

"All right, all right, I get it," conceded Ron gruffly. "Still. What would Seamus want with Hermione?"

"She's intelligent," Ginny remarked, "she's got a big heart, she's good-natured, she's funny, she's pretty –"

"I know, okay? I'm not blind! I mean – I don't think she is – _I_ don't think about her like that – but – she's no Lavender Brown or Parvati Patil, is she?"

"What you mean, Ron," his sister told him knowingly, "is that you reckon that because Hermione's not a glamour doll you're the only one that's noticed that she's worth a second glance. I hate to tell you this, but you're wrong. If you don't do something soon, she'll be married with five kids and you'll be living in a cardboard box on the streets. Alone."

Of course, Ron promptly turned an alarming shade of red and started muttering about how Ginny was mad and had no idea what she was talking about. Harry, however, knew otherwise. He was well aware that Ron was, in truth, dismayed at the prospect of being forced to confront his feelings for Hermione, and downright terrified at the thought of actually relaying them to her. He was, quite simply, an idiot. Didn't he realise that if he just _spoke_ to Hermione about it, she would instantly grab him and kiss the living daylights out of him? Was he really _that_ unenlightened?

Strangely, he found his eyes drifting over to Ginny. He shook his head slightly, firmly instructing himself to stop gawking at her. She'd be bound to notice sooner or later, and wonder what on Earth he was staring at.

Maybe, in a strange way, he kind of, sort of, _wanted_ her to.

Maybe he thought that she was _more_ than okay.

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Now's the time to review. Please? Could you? Ahh, thanks, you've made my day : )


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